


The Art of Sharing

by Aztecl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Past Abuse, Red Room (Marvel), Russian Natasha Romanov, Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aztecl/pseuds/Aztecl
Summary: Three times someone accidentally learned something about Natasha Romanoff and the one time she shared.3+1 one-shot.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 91





	The Art of Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo, readers!  
> Warnings: implied past suicidal attempt, blood, gunshot wound. Don't read if angst or the content will upset you in any way, thanks.

* * *

* * *

**1.**

* * *

  
Steve Rogers hurriedly ran into the quinjet, being careful to support the head of the unconscious redhead in his arms. He carried Natasha Romanoff bridal style in his arms. Blood from her abdomen stained both her cat suit outfit and the front of Steve's Captain America suit; the once white star was more of a gradient to red, including pink and salmon shades and highlights.

She'd insisted that she was perfectly fine, but Steve had more power over Natasha's decisions when he finally noticed her limping with a bullet in her stomach.

The limp was from fighting off an entire squad of heavily armed guards, and Steve wasn't entirely sure when she got shot. Natasha always had the tendency to ignore wounds, even if she was actively bleeding out from them. Clint had first told them this awhile back when they discovered him with a broken rib after a mission. He'd hid it from everyone until the other assassin pointed it out before returning to her floor of the tower.

Steve remembered seeing it first-hand, as well. On one recon mission gone more than just a little wrong, Natasha had been stabbed in the arm. She didn't even utter a word until they were back at the tower, and even still — the assassin tried to get away with wrapping it herself and drinking some vodka, but some things were a little hard to be left unnoticed.

Bruce had been left behind on the quinjet after reassurance that Hulk wouldn't be needed, and he now greeted Steve and Natasha in a small medical area that was already prepped for a quick surgery. The bullet was still inside her stomach — immediate action must be taken.

Steve was ushered out of the room. Despite his worry for Natasha, he knew she was in good hands and should return to the mission. Although, Clint and Tony definitely had it covered; the main problem came from keeping them in check with each other (Thor was in Asgard on some sort of business).

Steve sighed and ran down the ramp of the quinjet, feeling angrier than he had been for a while. He pulled his iconic shield off from his back and charged back into battle, sparing his conscious of unhappy thoughts about his injured friend.

A repetitive beeping sound. Someone's hand on hers. The soft yet uncomfortable linen sheets. All of the above were tell-tale signs of a hospital, Natasha realized. She mentally chided herself and tried to recall what had happened. Clint would have her head for this one. _And Coulson... Wait, no. He's dead._ _.. Right?_

She fought against opening her eyes, which was actually really hard. A fuzziness in her head made it hard to decipher anything else in her surroundings, worrying Natasha. Was she drugged? She felt like it, but the Red Room had desperately made their recruits build up a tolerance for drugs, pain, and many varying types of poison degrees. They had very effective methods most of the time. Still, whenever Natasha was rarely drugged: the effects were a lot worse. _Fu—_

"Good morning," someone said softly, breaking her thoughts. Natasha couldn't make out who it was. Some part of her brain hoped it was Steve.

She instinctively sat up and shot open her eyes. Natasha would've reached for a gun, but the drugs were really getting to her. The assassin would've attacked Steve Rogers, if she'd been at full strength; lucky for him. He gently pushed her back down. She cursed herself for not noticing him earlier. _Pull yourself together, Romanoff._

"You need to rest, Nat," Steve commanded, sounding like Captain America in the quinjet before a mission. _My opinion differs._ "The only medicine available during your surgery was mine."

Cap's medicine was specific to him and his enhanced metabolism. It was a lot stronger than what the average person should take, and Natasha wondered briefly on why they even bothered with her. She also thought about where Clint was if he wasn't with her.

And surgery? Oh yeah, Natasha remembered being shot in the stomach after a miscalculation. _Not my first rodeo._

An aching pain in her abdomen made her want to squeeze shut her eyes and let go of everything. Natasha was struggling to think properly.

"We just gave you another dose, so it should start taking effect soon," Steve continued. "Honestly, I was scared that we hadn't found all your weapons and you'd attack us." _Good point._

Natasha felt her already foggy head get darker with more mist and shroud. She made a small sound in the effort it took to sort through memories and thoughts. The spy was taught to not panic, so why was she panicking when having trouble?

"Reminds me of when I was young," Natasha blurted out randomly. _Well, shit._

Steve must've looked confused, for he turned to Bruce, who had just entered the room to check on her, and asked, "Is this stuff really that strong?"

Bruce nodded. "Well, it was designed for you and your metabolism. On a regular person, it would really mess with their head and make them delirious. I— uh... Natasha may say a few things — whether they're true or not, I don't know."

"We had _perevospitaniye_ training sometimes," Natasha said absentmindedly. _Re-education_ _._

Steve didn't know a lot of Russian, but that word didn't exactly sound good. "What?"

Natasha had a lazy smile on her face, but despite that, her face still darkened. "You go in and lay down. Then you exit with a clean slate, not knowing who you are or what you've done. ’M know how it works after all my work to become Ivan's favorite. He was kinda my father." _Fuck you, Ivan._

"Do you mean brainwashing?" Steve asked curiously. It was hard to not ask questions about the Black Widow, despite how hard she tried to remain in the shadows.

"We never called it that, but yup. That's probably why... it's messed up." _It had many names, technically._

The Red Room was always changing, a variable in an infinite equation. There was no solution to be found. You just had to adapt and transfigure the cycle of numbers and signs — was it negative? Positive? The only answer would have to outlast everything else and be the top dog. Being the best and one with the most power. One was a sufficient number, so did that mean the answer pointed at _numero uno_ on the dot?

Steve realized she must've meant her memories. Of course the medicine was worse on her! Natasha's head was already cloudy — and they'd only made it worse.

Bruce gulped nervously, fearing any unknown effects of the medicine. "C- can you remember anything?"

"I..." Natasha trailed off. She started rubbing her wrist, turning her pale skin white enough to show a faint line, representing a scar she'd given herself in the Red Room when Natasha was younger. "I got shot? You're Steve and Bruce, and the others are here somewhere — including Barton." _Don't remind yourself of the scar showing one of your greatest failures._

"I remember Budapest." Natasha smiled and fought against the sudden urge to giggle. _Romanoff, I swear to god that if you don't shut your damn mouth—_ "Fire. Knife to a gun fight. Barton. SHIELD. Lots of smoke, and that's including both times around. Blood. Ivan."

Bruce thought about some of the scars he'd seen on her abdomen when he was removing the bullet. He wasn't paying that much attention to them, but now he wondered: what story did each one hide? Where did she get them? Natasha was as mysterious as the way the universe existed.

_And this is why I hate myself._

* * *

**2.**

* * *

  
The first thing Pepper Potts noticed when she came to was the rough brick surface her back was against. She tried to think back to how she got in a kidnapping situation, but her head felt a little too foggy to decipher anything specific.

Pepper recalled being in the Avengers Tower, waiting for when Tony and a few others would come back from a mission. It was some sort of recon assignment, so she didn't quite understand why Iron Man was needed. Pepper assumed he'd just come along for the sake of being there, probably making up an excuse to Cap about wanting to help. In reality: Tony just wanted to tease Clint for sitting in the same position for hours on end.

The only other person home had originally intended to be on the mission, but then Tony volunteered in her place. Natasha Romanoff had just shrugged and opened up a book titled something in what Pepper assumed to be French. Why the assassin wouldn't just read an English translation was totally lost to Pepper.

Natasha was just mysterious like that. Was that even her name? Pepper couldn't recall ever hearing something different than Natalie, but even still — that was just a cover. She definitely knew that Natasha was fluent in many languages, mainly because of all the times Pepper had stumbled across her and Clint arguing rapidly in some obscure language. All of it really just sounded like gibberish to Pepper.

The brick wall behind Pepper was extremely course and dry. She turned her head back as far as she could manage with being tied to a pipe above her head, and saw the dark red color of it. Cracks were everywhere, and Pepper got the impression that some of it was blood, especially from the fading spots of gray poking through the red.

Pepper couldn't feel her forehead, but definitely sensed a bit of blood dripping down. It was mostly dry at this point, but Pepper wasn't able to tell. She also realized that her hands were so far above her head, her feet weren't even on the ground.

The second thing Pepper Potts noticed was Natasha hanging limply besides her. She cursed herself for not seeing her best friend before.

"Natasha," she whisper-yelled.

Natasha didn't stir. Pepper tried a few more times before deciding it wasn't worth it. The assassin had dried blood caked on the entire right side of her face, a likely result on their captors knowing what she was capable of. Pepper hoped Natasha didn't get hit too hard and wasn't suffering from a concussion. That would do nothing but add to their current predicament.

She also secretly hoped Natasha would be able to help them escape, but Pepper didn't know how easy that would be while Natasha casually wore jeans and a hoodie (probably belonging to Steve or Clint). Pepper took a deep breath and remembered what she could from some training. Scanning the area, she immediately noticed the general lack of brightness and vines growing in through cracks in the brickwork. Maybe it was an old abandoned building.

A heavy looking door adjacent to where Pepper and Natasha was opened, flooding the dark cell with enough light to make Pepper squint.

Someone entered the room — a young woman (looked more like a teenager ( with blonde hair falling just below the shoulders and ambient brown eyes. Her eyes were unusually blank, reminding Pepper of her assassin friend. The woman's nostrils flared at the sight of Natasha, and she briefly wondered why.

"Apologies, Ms. Potts," she said slowly. "You were caught in the crossfire, and you're not our intended target."

Pepper arched an eyebrow, but knew better than to engage directly. She was also a little frightened by how this woman was apologizing so easily.

Her emotionless face finally showed a hint of what looked like determination. Or anger. Maybe a general mix of both. "I'm here for revenge."

"Revenge?" Pepper couldn't help herself.

"Yes, _revenge_. Natalia is the reason my mother is dead," the woman hissed. "The program was a failure because of her."

Pepper fell silent, when suddenly — a new voice spoke up: "It was never quite a failure, but I wouldn't exactly call the Red Room a flawless victory."

The woman, obviously startled, turning towards a now-awake Natasha. Although, Pepper was extremely confused. Was her name Natalia, Natasha, or Natalie? She also wouldn't be very surprised if Natasha had been faking all along. Lies and deception were basically the words that could best describe a spy.

"I almost thought I was hallucinating," Natasha continued bluntly, "you look like your mother."

Pepper internally winced at the mention of their captor's late mother. She wanted to scream a warning and save Natasha from whatever inevitable torture they would endure. Confirmed a moment later — when the woman's hand struck out in a perfect fist at Natasha's nose. Her head whipped to the side and blood poured down steadily. Pepper thought it was broken.

"At least Madame B knew how to put up a good fight." Natasha smirked.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "You, _suka_!" Another smack to the face, but Natasha kept her mask on and didn't let any corners slip and peel off. "You dare speak of her. To me of all people?"

"Yes, I do dare actually. Ivan's been dead for years, Oksana." Pepper was glad to finally have a name to place to whoever this woman was. "So has Madame B. You can move on and get a grip on your life."

Oksana pulled out a knife from a holster on her thigh. "Because you—" she made a small cut on Natasha's cheek— "were resistant. You defected, which was bad enough, and then got _greedy_."

Pepper felt her eyes automatically widen at the sight of the cut and Natasha's defection — whatever that meant.

Oksana noticed immediately. "Oh yes. Natalia here escaped from the Red Room when she decided that she had enough. We had orders — you didn't finish them. Then Natalia burned down the Red Room, killing my mother."

"I don't take orders from them anymore." Although she wasn't showing it, Natasha tried not to look into Pepper's eyes. She knew she was a monster without anyone confirming it for her. "And where did following your psychopath of a mother lead?"

"It lead me towards greatness and taking on your missions. Yelena and I occasionally took over and traded off. Remember the hospital fire you started? The one that killed all of those children..." Oksana trailed off. "You're stalling."

Natasha sighed softly, without any real sympathy involved (although Pepper thought she saw a glimmer of pain shining through whenever Oksana mentioned that hospital fire). "You never were a great student."

Pepper blinked and nearly missed what happened. Natasha was somehow already out of her handcuffs, letting them fall upon the floor with a resonating echo. One leg hit the ground, but only on the balls of her foot. The other kicked right at Oksana's chest.

Oksana dodged a little too slowly, so the kick intended for the chest went into her hip instead. She grabbed Natasha's wrist and twisted violently. If it hurt, the assassin showed no indication. Natasha managed to win possession over Oksana's knife and pointed it at her opponent.

Both women tumbled to the floor, Natasha pushing her down. Oksana rolled out from underneath and tried to get a leg up on Natasha's knee. It worked and Oksana flipped off. Natasha used the momentum against her by grabbing her arm and bending it behind her back. Oksana grunted with effort from her moves.

A guard from outside ran into the room and pointed a metal bar at Natasha. She grabbed the weapon and hit him on the back of the head. _Hard_ _._ He promptly collapsed to the floor, groaning. Oksana cursed in some colorful Russian, revealing a more natural accent that was similar to Natasha's when she was occasionally drunk.

The bar rolled across the floor to right below where Pepper's feet were.

Natasha pushed off from Oksana and used her most dangerous weapon (according to Tony and a few others): the leg thing.

She swiveled up and around her opponent and somehow ended up on top of her shoulders. Oksana shoved her off, but only after taking several hits. Her vision blurred and any distant sounds sounded like they were even further. Natasha hit the brick wall aruptly, and fell onto the floor, landing on her side. She coughed, but flipped onto her feet easily.

Oksana charged, pulling another knife out from god-knows-where. It looked suspiciously like one of the ones Natasha always carried around, Pepper thought. The only reason she knew was from a girl's night they'd had together and Pepper had asked.

Distracted by the same guard stirring and yelling into a walkie-talkie, Natasha barely managed to flip over and pin Oksana's hand under her body. Oksana was forced to drop the knife. Another officer shoved Natasha off and started strangling her by the throat. Oksana stood nearby to watch.

Natasha looked up into Pepper's eyes and motioned slightly downwards. The other woman understood immediately and kicked over the bar from earlier, taking caution to be fast and not make a sound. Natasha's hand moved across the floor before eventually landing on the weapon. She flung it up with her free hand and knocked out the guard on her.

Oksana gaped for a second before regaining composure. Natasha gasped for breath but also fought off the other guard by making collision — the back of his head and her foot. He fell down instantly and didn't get back up. Natasha got up with a repeat of the flip from before, staring down Oksana.

Oksana firmly grasped the knife in her hand. She thought carefully, her hands turning white with the effort to concentrate — even though she already knew what her intention was. She turned it around after barely a second and stabbed it straight into her heart.

" _Izvini sestra_ ," Natasha muttered. She didn't waste a beat staring at the body, however, but instead helping Pepper loosen the other arm. Pepper followed the mysterious assassin to recover their weapons or technology, calling in a quinjet to be flown by JARVIS to their location.

Natasha flew it on the way home. She never necessarily said she wanted solitude, but Pepper made an assumption; it was usually one of those unspoken things in the air, or an elephant in the room.

In their case, it was a pretty big elephant aboard the quinjet, and Natasha made no move to fix the problem. She cursed herself for being _weak_.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

  
Tony Stark stared at himself in the mirror of his bedroom. The first thing he was drawn to was the dark bags underneath his eyes, making his skin pop out even more than usual. He thought it was reminiscent of one person living in his tower — cough cough _Natalie Rushman_.

Noticing this, Tony peeled back his eyelid and looked at his eye. They were a nasty color of red and the skin surrounding them looked a little swollen. But then again, that could be the result of constantly wearing big bulky lab goggles, because someone — cough cough _Pepper and Bruce_ — insisted that lab safety was important. Ugh.

He ran his hands through his messy mop of hair and realized he needed a drink. Tony grunted and exited his bedroom, crossing his floor and into the elevator. The billionaire swayed unsteadily to the calming elevator music, most likely JARVIS' best attempt at easing him into relaxation.

Tony felt like a balloon, and no — it wasn't just the fact that he was going up. Was it possible to just float away, almost like you'd never existed in the first place? He almost added it to his mental list of hypothesises to try before thinking about to more specifically. The results were exactly what you'd think: everyone makes a mark and leave it for another to find.

When was the last time he'd gotten a full night's worth of sleep?

Pepper was away on business, today being her final day of whatever she had to take care of. He knew it was probably related to Stark Industries, but also couldn't bring himself to actually be interactive in the company. Pepper was good at that type of thing, though. She was also insanely good at realizing when Tony had gotten little to no sleep, much like now. _Note to self,_ he thought, _get some sleep and hide the evidence._

The music cut off curtly and Tony heard the usual sound signaling the doors opening. He stepped out and onto the common room floor, his feet automatically marching left and towards the kitchen. Tony didn't notice the spy sitting on a stool at the kitchen bar.

It was the sound of someone chewing that made him do a double take. They weren't even bothering to cover their noise.

Natasha Romanoff nodded her head at him in acknowledgement before turning back to a mac and cheese cup and a book, titled: _Harry Potter_ _et_ _l'Ordre_ _du_ _Phénix_ _._ Tony assumed it was the fifth installment in the Harry Potter series — translated into French. Romanoff was like that sometimes; liking the challenges brought on by complications and puzzles; twists and turns; gaps without bridges.

"You do realize that it's four in the morning?" Tony asked, rubbing his eyes.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I'm a spy, it's my job to know things."

"Like how to read French in the wee hours of the morning?"

"Uh-huh."

Tony muttered something under his breath, and moved raid the alcohol supply. Natasha, however, coughed and pointed next to her. "It's already here."

He snorted. "I'm pretty sure you're a clairvoyant, Red. It's all the time you've spent with Pepper, isn't it?"

Natasha shrugged and went back to reading French-Scar-Wizard, or whatever.

Tony wondered if she was actually reading it, though, mainly because of her tired appearance (although it could've been an act). Like she said, Natasha was a spy and very good at it. She was probably tracking his every move precisely and ready to pull a weapon out of concealment in a moment's notice. He marveled at the thought, and immediately hoped that the agent wasn't reading his thoughts (another hypothesis to add). Did close contact make it work better, like how Tony had sat down besides her at the kitchen bar?

Natasha cleared her throat. "So?"

"Huh?" Tony said. "If you're gonna ask me questions, then answer this: why are you eating mac and cheese, drinking scotch, and reading right now?"

"I was hungry and wanted to take my mind off of things." If Tony hadn't lived with Natasha for awhile now, he wouldn't have ever heard the hesitation in her tone, being only barely noticeable, and the hint at her natural accent. She must've been sleep deprived, too. "Besides, Clint says I eat like a goddamn child."

"And he doesn't? Clint, I mean."

"Oh boy." Natasha smiled, and Tony noted how it genuinely looked real — minus her slightly sunken cheeks. "He once ate a whole bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets in front of Director Fury." He motioned for her to continue, but she replied, "That's classified."

Tony blinked. He grabbed a shot glass and poured some scotch, handing the bottle to Natasha when he was done. They clinked glasses and raised it to their lips. Tony smacked his lips in satisfaction and looked at her direction. Natasha had her usual haunted glint gleaming in her emerald eyes, causing her face to be devoid of anything else (how does she do that?) and full of flashbacks.

It reminded Tony of when he was a young boy and was forced to go to war-related things. His father had always been tinkering with weapons and heavily involved with people like Peggy Carter, the Howling Commandos, and the original top brass in the Strategic Scientific Reserve (later known as SHIELD). Being called upon, Howard occasionally came forward to honor men he worked with (especially James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers) and their impact on the front lines.

Some soldiers or veterans who'd made an appearance, either as a speaker or a member of the audience, carried the same look in their eyes; their minds always threatened to pull themselves into a horrid flashback of war and destruction. Tony had even encountered a few, his mother and father helping out while he'd simply asked what was wrong, having their butler — Mr. Jarvis — lead him back to the car.

Even at a young age, boisterous Anthony Edward Stark had never found a problem that he couldn't solve, except for the mystery behind people's thoughts — exactly like Agent Romanoff; puzzle pieces that didn't fit together and never would without their cooperation.

"Don't think I forgot my question, Stark."

"Curse you and your impeccable spy skills. Where do you even learn these things?" Tony cried. "Oh, lemme guess: 'that's classified'."

"It's also deflection," she reminded him.

Tony took a deep breath and clasped the bridge of his nose. "I... I can't sleep. Everytime I close my eyes, I can see that very same void of space staring coldly into my eyes. My toes shrivel, my body goes numb, and I just wanna collapse and shut down like my suit. I always ask myself: _W_ _hat if I let the missile go off? The bomb explodes and everything's on me, isn't it?_ And then that would make me a monster."

Natasha lowered her book. "We shouldn't be asking ourselves the what-ifs and playing out these scenarios inside our heads. What matters is that you didn't let those people die, and nearly sacrificed yourself for them — that, I cannot change, Stark — but it's the part that makes you human; you're most definitely not a monster."

Tony whistled. "Damn. Y'know, you're a pretty good inspirational speaker. Have you been playing hide-the-zucchini with Cap—?"

She pulled out a gun from somewhere on her body and slammed it heavily on the counter. Tony gulped, and had to admit: Natasha was fast for looking so tired.

Natasha closed _Harry Potter et l'Ordre du Phénix_ (without a bookmark, talk about risky, eh?) and drained her glass of scotch. She carried the mac and cheese to the recycling bin and threw it in. Then, the spy nodded to Tony again in the exact same way she had before.

"’Night, Tony."

"Goodnight, Natasha."

He didn't expect to see her again, but that's what the situation looked like on the very next night. Tony had entered the kitchen, shifting restlessly on the balls of his feet. Natasha had been sitting in the exact same spot and position — minus the cup of mac and cheese. Her book wasn't open, but instead lying there next to her, propped up against her elbow as she leaned against it.

Red flag number one: Natasha Romanoff was _asleep_.

Tony racked his brains for any time Natasha had willingly slept around anyone. He remembered a time when he'd been testing the security footage after attempting to hack his own AI, and surprisingly got in due to a small glitch in the repetitive lines of stupid code. It was actually Clint's room, so he was confused to find Natasha lying in the fetal position on the bed with her hand tucked beneath the pillow.

If a child was sleeping in that position, you'd probably say: "Aw, look how cute they are!" But it didn't take Tony long to realize that it was for feeling protection and safety; accessibility to a gun below the pillow was nice too. He immediately felt like he'd invaded her and Clint's (even though he hadn't been there) privacy, especially weird considering all that was seen was an assassin sleeping. Tony vowed to never check either of their rooms, even if he was just testing for flaws. He'd also activated another layer of personal authorization for each Avenger.

Red flag number two: Natasha Romanoff was _still_ asleep.

If you had ever told Tony that he would sneak up on the world's greatest assassin, he would've laughed in your face and given you directions to the nearest mental hospital. Maybe he'd offer a ride or locate a spare GPS navigation system. But then again — here they were. Part of Tony said: _Another sign of your deteriorating mental condition. Take up your own goddamn offer of a mental hospital._

He recalled his conversation with Romanoff last night. According to her, Tony wasn't a monster — and he believed her. Was that suicidal? Following an assassin's advice when they were sleep deprived; it sounds like the start to a bad joke. The other alarming part to Tony was that it seemed like Natasha had practiced her exact words to herself before, maybe having heard them before? He needed another drink, and now please — although in the end, nothing was enough to numb his theory's and hypothesises.

Red flag number three: Natasha Romanoff was breathing _heavily_ and shaking — no, _trembling._

They'd fought aliens together and taken on several smaller threats in the past few years. Tony had never seen even the slightest hesitation in her eyes. Natasha hadn't ever faltered or backed down from a fight. She'd taken bullets, knives, broken ribs, and undergone varying methods of diverse torture. What could scare the Black Widow enough to absorb her into a nightmare, not wake up despite being the lightest sleeper ever, and prevent her from sleeping regularly?

Tony started to check off his latest hypothesis based on his new findings, but also hesitated when thinking about the whole invasion-of-privacy thing. He was curious, sure; it was part of general human nature, and wasn't really a bad thing most of the time. But it was also wrong, especially in Tony's scenario.

Tony made a split second decision and hoped desperately that it wasn't his last. "Natasha?"

" _Mne net mesta v mire_ ," was all she muttered, still trapped in fear. " _Eto moya yedinstvennaya_ _tsel'."_

Tony asked JARVIS to translate: "'I have no place in the world,' and 'It is my only purpose.'".

He wondered what the fuck that meant.

Natasha said something else after a few seconds of silence. JARVIS continued to repeat everything in English: 'I won't kill my friend! Yelena can—'"

She got cut off by her own bloodcurdling scream. Was anyone else awake at this point? Tony hesitantly approached Natasha and shook her shoulder. "Natasha!"

"'Maybe I want to die! Isn't that what I've been trying to do for years — to have even more red in my ledger? I guarantee you, soldier... I won't fail next time.'"

She violently flinched at another touch from Tony and her eyes finally flickered open. They darted around frantically, searching for possible exits and examining her surroundings. When Natasha's eyes landed on Tony, he thought he saw a flicker of something unreadable, despite the situation she'd been found in.

"Three things you see." Tony did his best attempt at Capsicle, then cursed himself for thinking of that when his fucking teammate — no, friend — was having a panic attack.

Natasha took a deep breath. "You. Fridge... And _Harry Potter et l'Ordre du Phénix."_

"Three things you hear."

"You. Rain outside. My breathing." Natasha wiggled a finger, her arm, and her foot without Tony even asking to do the final step of the 3-3-3 rule. She finally placed her head on her hands and stared blankly at the wall.

Tony grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured two shot glasses. "So, uh..."

"No, I don't want to talk about. Mention it again and—" Natasha snapped, but he picked up on a small bit of gratefulness in her tone; maybe that's why Tony interrupted.

"You'll have to kill me, blah blah blah, it's classified." Tony smirked. "Believe it or not, I know how things usually work in my own tower."

Natasha nodded her head. She took one look at the scotch before downing it in own go. The assassin then walked out of the room.

"Goodnight," Tony said softly, making her stop but not turn around. "And, Romanoff? You're most definitely not a monster."

Natasha continued towards the elevator and headed to her floor. She almost believed his words, despite coming out of _Stark_ of all people, but an assassin can't fool herself that easily. As soon as she reached her bedroom, located on her floor — Natasha collapsed and let a single tear fall, her mask shredded into pieces that she knew she'd have to fix and wear again; turn something unrepairable into something reusable. She almost thought about waking Clint, but decided against it; Natasha wasn't that important or worth the trouble in the end.

* * *

**+1.**

* * *

"Uno!" Clint Barton called, looking quite proud of himself as he added a green four to the pile of cards. "What're you gonna do now, Romanoff?"

He had one card clutched in his hand, shielding it from his partner's view. Natasha raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her remaining cards in the game — a whopping total of three. But she wasn't about to be beat by Clint in a card game called _uno._

She quickly analyzed the previous card played by Clint, which was green. The cards in her hand included: a draw four, a blue reverse, and another blue three. Natasha weighed her options carefully before deciding on her next play, grinning mischievously. "Uno yourself."

Placing down a card, Natasha said smugly, "Draw four—" she played another— "you loose your next turn and I play the reverse, which allows me to say 'uno' and get rid of this," Natasha finished after depositing all three of her cards into the pile. "Dumbass."

Clint groaned and threw down his card. "Damn your spy skills!"

"It just means your bad." Natasha remembered how Tony had said something similar a few ago when they'd met at four in the morning. "Getting old, are we?"

"You'll have to start calling me Steve Rogers."

They shook hands in all fairness, but left the game out, assuming that a certain billionaire would be challenging someone in a battle of ruthless uno — probably Steve or Bruce since they weren't very good. Besides, Strike Team Delta was a little bit on the lazy side (Coulson is probably rolling in his grave). Luckily, Fury still hadn't said a word. He was too busy organizing missions for the Avengers and agonizing over Stark to care about two of his most top trusted agents.

Suddenly, Clint's phone rang. He gave Natasha a look saying: _Can you believe this shit?_

"Agent Barton here." Clint winced, a thought occuring to him — what if it was just Laura? Natasha mouthed something at him, but he wasn't exactly paying attention.

"Barton," said the voice of Nick Fury, "and I assume Romanoff is with you?"

Clint snorted. "What makes you say that?"

"Maybe the fact that I'm watching the security cameras right now."

Natasha yelled and hoped it was loud enough for it to be heard, "Stalker!"

"Agents, you're needed upstairs in the meeting room. Avengers business," Fury concluded. His tone of voice certainly lived up to his name as he suddenly hung up the phone.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look and made their way to the elevator. He made a face at the camera as they passed by, making Natasha smirk. The music did nothing to calm their moods and nerves at the fact that they were receiving another mission. She dryly wondered why they were the last ones to know about it; maybe they'd accidentally missed something while playing uno — unlikely, but nothing was quite impossible, just damn near close to it.

When the doors opened, Clint immediately noticed how everyone — including Thor — was there. Maria Hill stood by Director Fury, a stony expression on her face as she looked at Natasha. Tony was asleep in his chair, leaning back and drooling a little. Bruce smiled at the pair of assassins and Thor boomed, "Friends!"

Steve was eagerly tapping his foot and awaiting their next orders. A holographic image sat the rectangular table, showering the usually chocolate colored top with a faint blue light. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the large dot the map was centered on: somewhere in southern Russia, right above the Ukraine border; also too close to where she'd grown up before and during the Red Room to be a coincidence.

Bruce nudged Tony. He woke up, startled, and groggily said, "Huh—? What's happening? Oh. The lovebirds have finally made it!"

Clint glared daggers at him, but took his usual spot by Thor. He picked up a pen and twirled it in his hand absentmindedly. His partner sat on the adjacent side near Captain Rogers and rolled her eyes.

"Now that we're all here," Fury started, "we can get to work." He really wasn't one for introductions.

Hill zoomed in on the hologram, pinning a more specific location in Russia that Natasha and Clint could easily see. He shot her a worried look while she stared ahead at the wall, contemplating something solemn.

"Russia? I heard they had good vodka," Tony exclaimed.

"Can't believe I'm agreeing with Stark on something." He looked positively shocked at Natasha's comment.

"How do you know?"

"I am Russian."

Fury cleared his throat. "Stark, Romanoff, shut the hell up and let me speak. Yes, you're going to Russia because of an organization rising up — and it's one that some agents have dealt with before."

"Before?" Bruce frowned. "What exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

Fury's gaze flickered to Natasha and Clint. "Not my story to tell, but the gist of it—"

"The Red Room brainwashed girls and made them fight to the death and train in extreme conditions." No one was sure who was more shocked — Natasha, Clint, the Avengers, or the other S.H.I.E.L.D operatives. "It got burned down."

Clint nodded. He tried to hide his feelings of relief — Natasha had actually opened up to the team! That was amazing, and he made a mental note to make her a cake later (assuming the recipe was simple enough).

"Well, yep. We have intel that suggests the Red Room coming back together with the help of some sort of well-funded group," Fury continued casually, as if he'd never been interrupted.

Tony held his hands up. "Woah woah woah, slow down there, cowboy—!"

"Don't call me _cowboy,_ " Fury growled while Hill laughed.

"—okay then, pirate," Tony replied, words dripping with sarcasm. "How do we know this stuff about Red Room brainwashing?"

"Let's just say that we had someone on the inside," said Hill.

Steve instantly turned towards her. "You sent an agent into a dangerous op like that?" He could already see his funeral playing out before his eyes.

"Bold of you to assume I was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent at the time, which I wasn't." Natasha just kept on shocking herself today.

Clint also added, "Ah, Budapest! That was a fun one back in '03."

"Why were you there, Lady Natasha?" Thor hesitantly asked. "It sounds as if it were... Unpleasant."

The team tried to put together any scraps of information they knew about the Black Widow's past. Bruce and Steve remembered her mention being brainwashed while doped up on strong drugs. Tony thought about her panic attack and talking about being a monster and other things referenced about killing friends. Pepper had also told him what had happened when they'd been captured together — something about a women named Oksana and her deranged mother.

Natasha's gaze softened. Clint smiled encouragingly at her. "Well, how'd you think I got my namesake? Didn't exactly get a choice after my family was murdered by the guy in charge of the academy, Ivan. Twelve years later and I end up in S.H.I.E.L.D." She raised her hands and waved them around. "And the rest is a complete mystery!"

The one word in Tony's head was: _iconic._

**Author's Note:**

> It'll make my day if you leave kudos, comment, or bookmark the fic! :) Thanks for reading!


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